


The Quiet Place

by kereia



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Barebacking, Dirty Talk, F/M, Femsub, Hurt/Comfort, Light Dom/sub, Orgasm Delay, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Praise Kink, Vulnerability
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-21
Updated: 2018-04-21
Packaged: 2019-04-22 17:36:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,509
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14313756
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kereia/pseuds/kereia
Summary: Natasha shivered and fisted her hands in the sheets. Rising up, she looked at him over her shoulder. “I need you,” she said, voice ragged.“You're right. I'm injured. You spent the past hour patching me up, and I'm still in pain. People are trying to kill us, and one of my... someone who saved my life once died tonight. I need tonotbe inside my own head right now."





	The Quiet Place

**Author's Note:**

  * For [flipflop_diva](https://archiveofourown.org/users/flipflop_diva/gifts).



"I want you to hold me down," Natasha said.

She couldn't suppress the slight tremor in her voice, and this more than her injuries, more than the adrenalin, more than the ache in her muscles and the memory of blood on the pavement, shattered her own illusions about her ability to compartmentalize everything that had happened today.

Steve's hands stilled on her back. He adjusted his position on top of her – his thighs on either side of her hips – careful to keep his weight off her. After a moment, he resumed massaging her shoulders.

“You're injured,” he said quietly. “I don't want to make it worse.”

She closed her eyes as his hands veered too close to the slashes in her side. The sharp sting of pain made her legs twitch restlessly, which in turn pulled at the graze a bullet had left on her calf.

In spite of Steve's best efforts – taking care of her wounds, giving her a backrub to relax – Natasha couldn't let go of the tension that had burrowed into her muscles. She was no stranger to fighting, to running for her life, to seeing people die in front of her, but tonight she'd lost a friend, and she didn't have many of those.

And Clint... she didn't even know what had happened to Clint; they'd been separated early on, and he hadn't made it to their safe house, yet. Which left her and Steve with nothing to do but wait until he showed up, or until they were going to be extracted early next morning.

She knew that she needed to sleep, or at the very least ride out the adrenalin still rushing through her bloodstream, but her mind wouldn't let her. It ran through the night's events on an endless loop, questioning her every move, every decision, every moment that had let to Valon's death – the asset, she reminded herself – not Valon, not ally, not friend. (Even if she'd known him for twenty years. Even if he'd saved her life when she'd been cornered in Belize with no way out and a bullet would in her stomach. Even if he'd dragged her past the bodies of her enemies and cared for her while she'd been delirious from blood loss and infection.)

Natasha buried her head in the mattress and groaned. Her mind was going a mile a minute. She. Couldn't. Stop. Thinking.

“There's really no way to make it worse at this point,” she ground out.

His strong hands kneaded the muscles of her lower back, fingers rubbing against the tight knots beneath her skin, and she stretched, ignoring the pain in her side and pushing herself against him. His hands always felt amazing on her body, but tonight she was almost desperate for his touch – desperate for him to make her forget.

He leaned down, and she felt his lips brush against the back of her neck. “I want to calm you down, not get you worked up more than you already are, Tasha.”

Natasha shivered and fisted her hands in the sheets. Rising up, she looked at him over her shoulder. “I need you,” she said, voice ragged. “You're right. I'm injured. You spent the past hour patching me up, and I'm still in pain. People are trying to kill us, and one of my... someone who saved my life once died tonight. I need to _not_ be inside my own head right now. Okay?"

He met her gaze for a long moment, and she held her breath. When he finally nodded, his expression solemn, she slumped back onto the mattress, relief flooding her instantly.

Natasha rested her face between her arms and listened to the creaking of springs as Steve moved off the bed, the sounds of zippers being pulled down and buckles becoming undone, the whisper of fabric sliding down his limbs. Even with her eyes closed, her mind provided her with vivid memories of undressing Steve – of leisurely pushing his shirt off and caressing, kissing, biting ever inch of skin revealed to her, of frantically tearing at his clothes, when they were both too desperate and too needy to take it slow.

With rising anticipation, Natasha rubbed her naked body against the rough cloth of the blanket beneath her. Heat pooled low in her stomach, spilling into her abdomen and drenching her cunt. She could feel the wetness between her legs every time she rubbed her thighs together. Her nipples hardened as she shifted restlessly, seeking friction.

When she finally felt Steve kneel beside her, she moaned with relief, her breath already labored.

Wrapping his hands around her hips, Steve lifted her and positioned himself between her legs. Natasha pushed herself against him, rubbing her cunt along the hard muscles of his thigh and coating his skin with her slick.

A low, rumbling laugh rolled from his throat. “Look at you, all wet and eager,” he said. Then he pulled her legs further apart, leaned over her, and pressed one hand between her shoulder blades. His other hand sought out the wet heat of her cunt, and he cursed when his fingers sank into the slickness of her folds. “Fuck, Natasha. You're not just wet, your fucking drenched.”

He sank two fingers into her with enough force to make her spine arch, and Natasha gasped. _Yes, this... this is what she needed._

She tried to push into the thrust of his hand, but he leaned harder onto her back in warning, and she stilled.

“Don't move,” he ordered her, and finally, for the first time since their mission briefing two days ago, Natasha felt something inside her mind uncoil.

She exhaled a shaking breath and lay still, concentrating on the deep, slow pull of his fingers against her inner walls as he withdrew his hand, right before he plunged back in with even more force, making her moan.

He worked her body expertly, thrusting in hard and fast, and taking his time pulling out with excruciating slowness, until Natasha was panting and writhing, her abdominal muscles growing tight.

She felt her release rising inside her, heat suffusing the bottom of her spine and liquid gushing between her legs. Her muscles contracted around Steve's fingers, and she braced herself, when he suddenly pulled his hand away, leaving her empty and crying out in protest.

She pushed against the hand holding her down, but he bore down on her, teeth sinking into the side of her neck.

Natasha shuddered beneath him, pleasure curling her toes.

“Are you going to come without my permission?” He whispered the question into her ear, his voice low and dark with just a hint of thunder. “Or are you going to be a good girl, and take what I give you?”

Natasha felt her muscles seize at his words. She panted with arousal.

“I'll be good. I promise,” she gasped.

Soothing the bite on her neck with a lazy swipe of his tongue, Steve made a satisfied humming sound. Then he reached over her and grabbed both pillows from the end of the bed. One of his large hands wound around her waist, and his palm splayed against her lower abdomen, making her squirm as the heat of his skin sank into her body.

He lifted her easily and shoved both pillows beneath her hips, leaving her open and vulnerable, her ass up in the air, and her cunt fully exposed. Natasha didn't think she could get any more aroused, but having him arrange her body just the way he wanted it made her even wetter.

His hand pressed her down again, palm pressing against the length of her spine as he stretched her – slowly, relentlessly – with three of his fingers. Natasha whimpered as her body adjusted to him, her hips mindlessly pushing back. She was still so close, every fiber of her being overflowing with heat and want and desire.

It didn't take him long to bring her to the edge again, his hand a steady pressure between her legs. She was panting and moaning, her body shuddering against his hold, when he withdrew for the second time. The heat of his body curved against her back, and his free hand, slick with her juices, trailed soothingly along her thigh.

“Please,” she begged.

“Not, yet,” he replied, pressing his mouth against her shoulder blades.

Dipping back into her, he stilled his hand, fingertips pressing against her g-spot while his palm rested against the lower curve of her ass. She wriggled around his fingers, desperate for friction, _any_ friction, but he stayed motionless inside her, letting her feel the stretch, letting her body burn without giving her relief.

Her fingernails dug into the edge of the mattress above her. “Steve, please. I need to come.”

“Not, yet,” he repeated, voice impossibly soft, a hint of laughter in an undercurrent. “Not even close.” His free hand twisted in her hair, pulling her chin up, and she almost came then and there at the thrill running down her spine. She whimpered as his breath ghosted along her ear. “Don't you dare, Tasha,” he said, voice suddenly stern. Her whole body reacted with a violent shiver. _Yes_ , her mind screamed. _Talk to me in just that tone of voice._

“Don't you dare come until I tell you to. Not until I _allow_ you to.”

She lay panting, her muscles clenching around his fingers as he held her down, caging her with his body and the hand in her hair.

“I won't,” she whispered. “I won't. Please.”

She heard the desperation in her own voice and marveled, not for the first time, how easily Steve could make her unravel.

When he finally moved his fingers again, she nearly sobbed, grateful for the pressure, grateful for the way he dragged her body back to the very edge of her release. But he wouldn't let her come. Every single time she felt herself teeter on the brink, he would pull out, leaving her bereft and wanting, always wanting, but never satisfied.

Only when she felt tears pricking at the corners of her eyes, when her voice grew high and keening, and her slick drenched the pillows underneath her, did he bend down again, the hardness of his cock pressing against the cleft between her ass cheeks.

“Please, Steve. I can't take it. I can't take anymore.”

“Count to ten,” her replied, his breath hot and ragged in her ear, another sign that he was just as turned on as she was. “Count up to ten, and then I'll let you come, but not before.”

She twisted beneath him. Waves and waves of staggered heat rolled through her body, and she buried her face into the sheets. She was too close, too fucking close.

“I can't,” she gasped, her sopping channel constricting around his fingers. “Please don't make me. I can't take it.”

He made a low, soothing noise against her ear, and withdrew his hand again. “You can, sweetheart. I know, you can.” He pressed kisses along her spine. “Come on. I'll help you. I'll make you feel so good. I promise.”

His hand rested against her hips, his thumb rubbing soothingly along her skin. “One,” he said, coaxing her into the count.

Her breath hitching, Natasha inhaled. She tried to center herself. It was easier, now that he was no longer inside her.

“One,” she whispered.

“Good,” he said, approvingly, and rewarded her with the lightest of touches against her clit.

Taking another ragged breath, Natasha let herself melt into the mattress. The cacophony of her thoughts receded to a quiet murmur in the back of her mind, leaving her focused solely on Steve's voice and the heat of his body against her skin.

“Two,” she continued as he opened his fingers, catching her clit between them every time he dragged his hand through her folds.

“Three,” she ground out, her muscles trembling again as she felt her arousal rise.

She felt the velvet softness of his erection drag along her skin, felt the moisture of his pre-come drip onto the curve of her butt.

“Keep going,” he said, voice deep and gravelly. “You're doing so well, Natasha. I wish you could see yourself right now, all wet and hot and aching. I could do this all day. Keep you hovering on the edge. Keep you moaning and desperate. You're such a pretty sight like this.”

She pressed her forehead harder into the mattress trying to hold on to the merest shred of self-control. “If the others could hear you right now... fuck, Steve.” A moan tore from her throat as she forced the next number past her lips.

She could hear the smile in his voice as he towered above her. “They all think I'm a fucking boy scout.” Leaning down he nipped at the soft skin of her ass. “They have no idea about all the dirty, filthy things you let me do to you.”

Without warning, his fingers sank back into her, finding her g-spot with shocking accuracy.

Natasha cried out. “Five,” she panted, gasping for breath. “Tony would have a h-heart attack, if he ever.. oh god... if he ever found out.”

His low laugh washed over her senses. “Might be worth it,” he said, his fingers scissoring inside her.

She squirmed, stomach muscles impossibly tight. “Steve,” she gasped. “Please.”

But he was merciless.

“I told you. Not without my permission.”

She whimpered as the pressure rose inside her, building up like a tidal wave that would surely pull her under. Sucking air into her lungs, she shut her eyes tightly, concentrating on the countdown. Her world narrowed to a pin point where nothing mattered – nothing but the next number.

“Si...six,” she ground out, her voice breaking on the word.

“Good girl,” Steve said encouragingly, and Natasha bit her lip as his praise ran through her like liquid lightning. She could taste blood in her mouth, and her hips jerked against him when he pressed his fingertips against the nerve cluster inside her.

“I can't...” she whimpered, when the friction sudden spiked and her abdominal walls contracted almost painfully around his hand. She tried to close her legs, but only managed to trap his hips between them. “Steve. Steve, please. That's too much.”

He stilled, not withdrawing from her pussy, but releasing her hair.

“Do you want to safeword out?” he asked.

Natasha shook her head, even as her hips bucked against him. “No.”

Bending back over her, he pressed his hips against his hand driving his fingers deeper inside her until she whimpered.

“Then give me a number, Natasha.” He peppered her shoulders with gentle kisses. “Your safeword or a number, sweetheart. It's your choice.”

Natasha tried to breathe. Tears clung to the corner of her eyes, but she didn't want him to stop. It felt so good, she never wanted it to end.

It took her a few moments to calm down enough to force the next number past her lips. The pillows beneath her were damp with her slick, and sweat coated every inch of her skin.

“Good girl,” Steve repeated, once the seven tumbled out of her. “You're doing so well.”

He pulled out of her, and she could hear the slurping sound as he sucked her juices off his fingers. When his hands reached for her next, it was to shift her hips and pull her thighs apart again so he could line himself up behind her. He sank into her with a slow, deep push that forced all the oxygen out of her lungs. There was no air. Nothing existed but the burning stretch of her body around his cock. Her nails clawed at the mattress.

“Breathe, Natasha,” he coaxed, leaning over her, his body pushing her down. “We're almost there. Just a few more.”

She couldn't fathom where he found the self-control to hold still. She could feel the hard length of him pulsing inside her, and her entire body seemed submerged in heat. He took hold of her wrists with one of his hands, stretching them above her head. His weight pressed her into the sheets, and she could feel the dull ache of her injuries throbbing at her waist. It didn't matter. She was too caught up in her pleasure to care.

Bracing himself with his free hand next her shoulder, Steve nuzzled the back of her ear.

“Do you feel that?” he asked, a tremor in his voice the only indication that his control was starting to fray. “Do you feel how deep I am inside you?”

Natasha couldn't move. Her muscles denied her every command. She drew breath, and the oxygen went straight to her head.

“Give me a number, Tasha,” Steve ordered. “I won't move until you do.”

A hoarse sound spilled out of her. It took everything she had, every last morsel of self-awareness to give him what he asked of her.

“E-eight,” she sobbed.

“Well done,” he said and started to move.

She could feel every inch of him as he pulled out of her until only the head of his cock stretched her open. A low moan fell from her bleeding lip when he thrust his length back in, the sound of their bodies rutting into the sheets sloppy and wet. She felt so full, the stretch at once agonizing and delicious.

“Come on, sweetheart. Just two more. Two more and I will let you come. Fuck, you feel amazing, Tasha. You have no idea how good that tight, sweet pussy feels around me. I'm going to fuck you so good. Just give me a number.”

Natasha lay helpless beneath him, face hidden in the mattress. Her body felt full, stuffed to bursting, and she'd been hovering on the edge for so long that she wasn't even sure if she would be able to orgasm once he gave her permission. There was something enticing in the idea of not finding release, of being forced to feel the waves of her arousal flow through her, ebbing and waning at his command.

Steve surged back into her, his hips snapping hard and fast against her ass, and the next number tore out of her lungs as he bottomed out inside her.

“So good,” Steve praised her as he set a fast rhythm that would carry them both over the edge before long. His voice had lost any semblance of control. “Look how well you take my cock, Natasha. Fuck, I can never get enough of you.”

She felt herself careening toward the edge, every nerve alight. “Please, please, please,” she sobbed, tears falling freely from her eyes. She couldn't focus. Her mind was a mess. She had no idea which number was next, and she couldn't take anymore of this. It felt too good, too hot, too _raw._

“Say it,” Steve ordered, voice as shredded as she felt all over. “Just fucking say it, sweetheart. I know you can.”

“Oh god.” She was burning up. Fire raced along her spine.

“Be a good girl, Natasha. Just say the last number.”

“Ten.”

It was a shout, a primal cry that tore through her. Her legs kicked out, her muscles seized, but still she teetered on the brink – aching, longing, wanting – until Steve bent over, his mouth close to her ear.

“Come,” he told her. “Take the pleasure, Tasha. Take it all. It's yours.”

She fell, tumbling, cresting, drowning, gasping for breath.

The sheer, raw edge of ecstasy held her so firmly in its grip that she was barely aware of Steve's losing his rhythm, of the erratic, frantic thrusting of his hips until she felt him spill inside her, painting her insides with his come.

He fell down next to her boneless body and gathered her into his arms. His breath was rough in her ear as he pressed kisses to her face and gently stroked her hair.

Brushing the tears from her cheeks, he looked at her, gaze warm and tender. “Are you feeling better, now?” he asked, a smile tugging at his mouth.

Aftershocks still running through her body, Natasha blinked up at him, aware that she probably looked exactly as wrecked as she felt. Her lips curved into a drowsy smile. There was no tension left in her body. Hell, she was surprised she could feel her limbs at all, blissed out as she was. “I do,” she answered sleepily, knowing that she would be out like a light the second she closed her eyes. “Thank you.”

While he gently rubber her wrists where he had held her down, Steve searched her eyes, and she held his gaze, letting him see the truth of her words. Then he nodded and pressed a lingering kiss to her forehead. “Go to sleep,” he said softly. “I'll be here when you wake up.”

Somewhere in the back of her mind, she was aware that they should probably get cleaned up and change the sheets, but she couldn't bring herself to care. A quiet, peaceful lethargy had settled over her, pulling her to sleep.

 


End file.
